The Indian stood smiling at my plight.
He spoke only a pigeon English, but said, "too much-ee wet." I was in despair; things began to look hopeless again to me.

I thought "surely these Mexicans must know how to manage with these floors." Fisher, the steamboat agent, came in, and I asked him if he could not find me a nurse.

He said he would try, and went out to see what could be done.
He finally brought in a rather forlorn looking Mexican woman leading a little child (whose father was not known), and she said she would come to us for quinze pesos a month.

I consulted with Fisher, and he said she was a pretty good sort, and that we could not afford to be too particular down in that country.

And so she came; and although she was indolent, and forever smoking cigarettes, she did care for the baby, and fanned him when he slept, and proved a blessing to me.
And now came the unpacking of our boxes, which had floated down the Colorado Chiquito.